There are a lot of benefits in being a small dealer. You don’t have a person showing up every few months from national office to talk about…. Well, you just don’t get a visit from anyone, do you?
There are a lot of benefits in being a small dealer. You don’t have a person showing up every few months from national office to talk about…. Well, you just don’t get a visit from anyone, do you?
I must confess that the odd comment from yours truly about BDMs in recent months has seen the phone run quiet from that particular sector. The last invite I got was to attend a seminar for Nigerianletterscam.com to be held in Africa. It was a great deal, the airfare was paid for, I just had to find US$20,000 for the accommodation.
Anyway, from time to time I get to answer the phone in the office. In case you haven’t noticed, our opinions and views are now important to someone. In fact, the whole world now seems to live by the telephone (I think I prefer Catweazle’s “telling bone”) which brings me to this week’s little issue – phone stalkers.
It started early in the year with a call from a friendly telecommunication carrier.
“Can I speak to the person who handles the selection of your telephone carrier”.
Now I don’t know about your practice, but one area we’ve had to cut down here in the past few years is staff.
Tragically, the person whose sole job was to select phone carriers has had to be let go. Yes, I would like to be able to have someone to look after the selection of telephone accounts but I guess it’s just me. It kind of makes me feel bad that somehow, I’m a bit “deficient” perhaps I should have a person for that job.
Having given it some thought, next time I’ll be blowing their world apart by hitting them with: “Now you’ll have to tell me which one you want? Mr Parpanowskirajik is in charge of local calls. Mr Perpensliskowisz handles faxes and mobiles up to 500 km. Mrs Ehlsarficiniani looks after mobiles over 500km and local call district accounts while Mrs Sinjinardamah looks after international.”
Whooaaa!
Can’t you imagine the guy on the other end of the phone – dribbling in anticipation; desperately trying to decide which one he wants to talk to and hoping he pronounces the name right.
“Ah sorry, he’s out.”
Stalking example 2 involved a call from an advertising rep, but they’re sneaky bastards you never quite know what’s going on.
“Hello, I’m calling on behalf of the Poor Sick Little Children with No Parents, and the Cat Just Died Association (CJDA). We’re looking for someone to help us (sob). We’ve just managed to get hold of a rickety old photo copier and we were wondering of you (sob) could help us out with a small add in our next newsletter (Sob)?”
“Sure,” you say, “how much?”
Three hundred bucks.
After getting back up off the floor, you have visions of the cat lying there like a fur covered speed hump (not that effective really, only good for roller bladers) and decide to cave in.
Four months later, your copy of the newsletter arrives and miraculously, the tired old photo copier has been transformed into a state of the art four colour offset and you’re in amongst a 90 page spread with 4,500 other punters. Issue 1 Volume 1.
You search through the thing trying to find your add only to see it turn up on page 83 and roughly the same size as a 1970s fund manager disclaimer.
The sad thing is, next time someone else rings up for help with a similar thing you just say no.
Stalker number 3 and not that far behind the advertising guys are the other little pests which seem to be breeding these days — the surveyors.
No, not the little guy with an orange stick who acts like a modern day Matador on the main road – the ones who ring you up to see if you have 10 minutes to take part in a few questions.
I used to feel flattered that someone had bothered to seek my opinion but when you start to get three calls a week, something’s got to give. Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear to be the survey companies.
I reckon it’s time they sent a bottle of scotch or a family ticket to the movies if you agree to participate. When I ask if they’re going to pay me for my time it’s like I’ve threatened to blow Roy Morgan and his mates up.
“Pppppp pay YOU?”
So here’s an idea for all the fund managers, government departments, well meaning research houses and the like. Why don’t you all get together, work out what you want to ask, chip in together and buy me a bottle of Scotch and then not only will I agree to participate, I’ll answer your questions honestly.
I’ll actually give real answers and not just “Slightly Happy” to every question after number seven. I’ll write down the eight different choices I have to select from and I’ll tell you my income within $10,000 instead of quoting the Peruvian National debt.
Surveys might actually have some statistical significance instead of a disclaimer down the bottom which states: sample size 200, of which no one was a practitioner, interested or bothered to give truthful answers.
So, stalkers who use a phone, beware. I’m about to take action. It’s payback time. Here’s how it works and how I’ve figured I’ll fix it.
I don’t like making calls any more because I keep getting menu driven “push button bloody hatch”.
(Steve Helmich from AMP is a clever guy, he’s figured that as soon as you get a menu phone system, you just push 0 straight away and it takes you to an operator — try it, it works!)
I don’t like receiving calls any more because Roy and his Galloping mate want to know everything about me and won’t pay for the privilege.
When I use the phone, I have no idea how much it costs. Under the deal I’m with now, I think that if I ring myself after seven, they give me money and a discount off my Chinese take-away.
So the only solution is to get rid of the phone altogether. That’ll lift productivity!
